Changing Leaves
by BraelynKisses
Summary: Who's going to be the one to pick up the pieces after Hermione's engagement falls apart? Multiple chapters.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Anything HP is not mine.

Changing Leaves (1?)

It was autumn and every time Hermione looked at the changing palette of the leaves, she thought of him. She liked seeing the leaves change to brilliant shades of reds, oranges, and yellows; it was beautiful, picturesque, majestic, and awe inspiring. They looked so bright, but it was only an illusion and it never ceased to fool her. She would go about her normal life, occasionally noticing the brilliance in the trees, but before she knew it, the leaves had fallen to the ground. No longer the bright, vibrant colors they once were; they had become dull and dirty and strewn all over the place; it wasn't possible to go anywhere without seeing them on the ground where they lay to begin their rotting process. And they just lay there, occasionally stirring with the wind, but they usually never went anywhere. They would just sit there like a nagging reminder to rake the leaves.

It always snuck up on her, the leaves falling off the trees. Every year, she was in awe at how things could change so quickly. And raking the leaves was no easy task, at least in the Muggle world it wasn't. You would think that gathering up a few leaves into a neat windrow would be easy enough to accomplish. But it's not, especially where there was an overwhelming amount of leaves. And once you tackled them, there was no turning back if it became too overwhelming. You couldn't rake half a yard and not the other half, it's just wasn't done and it didn't make sense. So once you decided to pick up those leaves, you had better be prepared for the work, sweat, and pain that went into it.

That was what Hermione thought about as she stood outside of the quaint little house she had shared with her now ex-fiancée. With one last deep breath, she turned away from the wooded lot and stuck her wand into the air to hail the Knight Bus. With nowhere to go for the moment, she asked to be dropped off at the Leaky Cauldron.

The nauseating bus ride would have been okay if Hermione had not already felt queasy. She forced the bile that had been demanding exit back down as the violent purple bus came to a sudden halt in front of the inconspicuous inn and pub. Her first compulsion to expel her stomach contents had come when her fiancée of six months, and boyfriend of two years, had confessed that he no longer loved her and had been seeing another woman for the better part of the engagement. The only reason for his proposal was because it seemed logical. Logical. There was no love, no passion, no desire in logic. And this made Hermione feel worthless, belittled, angry, upset, embarrassed, and most of all – foolish. To think that she had allowed that pitiful excuse for a human being kiss her, make love to her, and become the most important man in her life made Hermione feel stupid; stupid and foolish for not seeing the obvious; the weekend "business trips," the late night "office meetings," the disappearance of romanticism, how making love had become merely a mechanical task. But Hermione had been blinded by comfort. They were getting married and that was all that mattered, right? So she focused on work. When he started to spend less time at home, she started to bring her work home to pass the time, and when he saw that she was spending more time on her own work, he stayed away more often and for longer periods of time. It was an unending cycle that Hermione never even noticed until she was sitting alone at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron.

Never one to drink, it didn't take Hermione that many shots of various hard liquors to become sufficiently inebriated. With her head laying on the chipped and stained wooden counter and her arms dangling lifelessly by her side, Hermione's eyes drooped as she vaguely paid attention to the surrounding room that was blurring and spinning before her. She didn't even notice when an unknown person, or at least unknown to her in her current state, hoisted her out of her seat, draped one of her arms over their shoulders, and successfully dragged her unresponsive, limp body up to one of the vacant rooms and into the bed. She didn't even care if the stranger had brought up her travel bag, which contained all of her shrunken belongings. And somewhere in the depths of her clouded mind, it felt good to not care about anything.


	2. 2

Disclaimer: Anything HP is not mine.

Changing Leaves (2?)

Hermione awoke to someone softly stroking her hair. Opening her eyes, she was greeted with the same eyes that had always brought comfort to her, and for a fleeting moment she believed that all that had transpired the previous evening had been nothing but a terrible dream. And as she became aware of her surroundings, her senses were bombarded with unfamiliarities; the bed was too hard, the sheets too coarse on her skin, the stale air nothing like the fresh air that usually greeted her in the mornings. And those eyes, those eyes were the same ones that she had been looking into for the better part of her life, and they had always provided comfort, security, ease, and reassurance. But not on this morning. On this morning, as Hermione searched those piercing green eyes, she saw sadness. Overwhelming misery.

"I've been so worried about you," he whispered as he continued to brush his fingers through her hair in what should have been a loving gesture.

Hermione rolled onto her other side as a lump formed in her throat. Her eyes burned with tears that she didn't want to shed. She wanted to say something; she wanted to say a million things, but her throat had closed up and she was soon crying for all the emotions she had tried to drown in alcohol.

"Hermione, love, say something. _Anything_." That voice; that voice sounded as torn up as she did and Hermione desperately wanted to believe that to be true. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But – but it's better this way," he choked out.

"Harry, how can this be better?" Hermione managed to force out. And with every word she spoke, it felt as if her soul was being torn away from her body. "I love you," she whispered pleadingly, as if those were the magic words that righted all wrong.

Harry cast his eyes onto the floor in shame. "I know, and I love you, too. But we're not _in_ love with each other. We were just friends and we were young; we still are. We weren't mature enough to understand. We didn't get to live the same childhood as everyone else, we didn't get to experience adolescence, we were confused. We mistook our love for something more because it _seemed_ logical. But I don't want it to be _logical_, and I know you don't either. Being in love should be reckless, wild, passionate, anything but logical. It's not fair to either of us."

Hermione's sobs pierced the following silence like a dagger through Harry's heart. Hurting Hermione was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to live the rest of his life knowing that he was the reason that she never knew passionate love. When they had moved past friendship, nothing between them had changed and that never bothered him because she was the woman he loved. They became closer physically, of course, but he had never seen, in their burgeoning relationship, the passion that she had for other facets of her life. After two years, he thought it was the right thing to do by asking for her hand in marriage. There was no doubt that they could live together happily for the rest of their lives. But soon after the engagement, he had been reunited with Ginny after her three year absence while working with her brother, Charlie. Seeing her again had awoken a part of him that told him that he wasn't _in love_ with Hermione, and he would never be able to spend the rest of his life as her husband knowing that.

Both he and Ginny were overcome with guilt, yet both couldn't bear to anticipate the repercussions of the fiery temper that would come from telling Hermione the truth. Harry had been on the brink of hyperventilating when Hermione came home from her job as a researcher for St. Mungos. One look at her vibrant face, and he almost backed out. Yet somehow, he managed to reveal the truth. And now, he couldn't remember a word he had said. All he recalled was the shocked and crestfallen look on Hermione's face, how she wordlessly took off her princess-cut diamond engagement ring, summoned every last belonging of hers into a travel bag, and walked out of the front door. The reaction he got was far worse than anything he had anticipated. He had never felt more remorse and had never felt so ashamed; he wished that she had been angry, had shouted, and had thrown picture frames against the wall.

Harry stood and took a deep breath to try to quell the guilt from keeping the truth from Hermione for such a long period of time. "I've already taken my things out of the house, so you can go back home now," he said in a quiet voice.

"I don't want it," Hermione responded with more resentment than she meant to.

Harry nodded even though he knew she couldn't see. "You deserve to be happy, _truly_ happy," he said as he placed a hand on the doorknob.

"How did you find me here?"

Harry turned around to see Hermione sitting up, facing him. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her face was glistening with the tears that were caused by him. And the sight drove the dagger deeper into his heavy heart. "He was here last night, but I gave my word that I wouldn't say anything." And when Hermione didn't respond, he left with his heart feeling bruised but knowing that both he and Hermione would be able to fully pursue true happiness.

Hermione refused to go back to the house that was meant to hold her dreams and future, but this also meant that she didn't have anywhere else to go. Always having too much pride than was good for her, she refused to ask for help from family or friends.

"What do you mean 'It's taken care of'?" Hermione asked reproachfully.

"Exactly what it means, Miss Granger. It's all been taken care of already," Tom, the innkeeper, tried to explain as Hermione attempted to pay for her room.

"You don't understand. How can it be taken care of when _I_ haven't taken care of it?"

"With all due respect, Miss Granger, perhaps you should consider the possibility that _someone else_ has taken it upon themselves to see to your hospitality. However, if you still insist on paying, I have no objections to accepting it," Tom added slyly.

Hermione placed her hands on the counter and leaned forward threateningly. "And who was this 'someone else'?" she asked in a harsh whisper.

"He made it very clear that I was not to reveal that information, and he also made it very clear that he knew for certain that you'd ask."

Feeling very annoyed, Hermione left the Leaky Cauldron in a huff and headed for Diagon Alley. After a hangover potion and a day of intense sulking, soul-searching, and introspection, she had reluctantly decided that Harry was, in fact, right about their relationship. She thought she was in love, but what did that mean exactly? She had nothing to compare it to. Who was to say that they _were_ in love, or that they _weren't_ in love? But she did know that with Harry, she had never felt the same excitement she experienced when finding a new book to be cherished, and love with the man she was meant to be with was supposed to be more exhilarating, stimulating, and electrifying than receiving a new book. That much she knew.

But this new realization in no way excused Harry for what he did. As much as she wanted to forgive and forget, for the sake of friendship, deep down she knew that that was not a likely possibility. He had taken her trust, her self-worth, and her pride. What if no other man would ever want her? What was she supposed to do now? Hermione had never even dipped her feet into the dating pool, and now she was almost twenty-two with no idea how to even start dating. In fact, she didn't even know if she wanted to. As far as she was concerned, _this_ was something she never wanted to experience again. She would rather go back to the days of Voldemort than suffer heartbreak again.

Now without a room at the Leaky Cauldron and a house she refused to live in, Hermione decided it was time to search for a new place to piece her life back together. So, as a woman on a mission, she set off for Flourish and Blotts with purposeful strides and her chin held up high. She _was_ still young; there was no reason to be worrying about the state of her love life (if she ever decided to have one again). Now was the perfect time to concentrate on career and define herself as Hermione Granger; Hermione Granger without Harry Potter.

At the fairly empty bookshop (as it wasn't overcrowded with school-bound Hogwarts students), she bought a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and settled herself at one of the empty tables on the upper level. Again, as a woman on a mission, she flipped directly to the realty section. At first, she was drawn to the four-bedroom houses that boasted spacious kitchens and living areas that were perfectly suited for… families. No, what she needed was a flat, something that wasn't appropriate for a family, something perfect for single life.

Hermione had three prospective flats circled, although none of them particularly piqued her interest, when a shadow was cast over her paper.

"Excuse me, but do you mind –" she started until she looked up to see who was impeding the start of her new life. "Oh. Bloody. Hell. Is it not enough that you torment me at work, now you have to pester me here, too?" she asked with less fervor than she usually reserved for Draco Malfoy.

"Well, well, well, Granger," Draco drawled as he invited himself to the seat across from Hermione. "Do my eyes deceive me? Do I sense trouble in paradise?"

Hermione scoffed, hoping it sounded believable. The last thing she needed was for Draco to affirm that she wasn't good enough as a woman. "I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."

Draco smirked and leaned forward as if he were about to share something in confidence. "Where's your rock?"

Hermione hastily stretched the sleeve of her jumper down past her fingertips. "It's, er, it's getting cleaned."

Leaning back casually, Draco raised an eyebrow at her answer. "Then, pray tell, why are you browsing through the flats? Surely a one-bedroom flat is not what a young couple would look for to start their new family in. Are the two love birds suffering a lovers' quarrel?"

Hermione quickly folded up her _Daily Prophet_, fully intent on leaving the bookshop without uttering another word to the arrogant blond. She clutched the paper to her chest and turned away to leave.

With his features pulled into a scowl, Draco couldn't help but feel unsettled. With her head hung low, the haphazardly folded paper tucked under her chin, Hermione looked like a shy and reclusive girl who was afraid of being noticed. And that wasn't Hermione. No, that wasn't Hermione at all. In fact, Draco was even disconcerted by how much Hermione didn't _look_ or _act_ like Hermione. There was no spark in her eyes, no bounce to her bushy curls, no confidence in her steps, and no vigor in her voice. Hell, she didn't even tell him to go fuck himself, which Draco had come to see as something special as he was the only person she ever swore at. 'Damn, what the fuck did Potter do?' he thought to himself angrily. When he saw her passing for dead at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron the previous night, he knew something was wrong. After deciding to do the right thing (for once) and getting Hermione settled in a bed, Draco had gone on a search for Harry to give him a piece of his mind about not even caring that his fiancée was off getting piss drunk in some dingy bar. Before leaving a silent Harry however, he had had enough sense to forbid that anyone, much less Hermione, know that he had been the one seeing to her well-being. After all, he still had his reputation to keep.

Deciding to give it one more try, Draco left to catch up with Hermione to see if he could rouse any fire from her. He didn't say a word as he followed her out of the bookshop; he only followed close enough to step on the heel of her shoe in a very childish manner.

Hermione had walked five feet from the door of Flourish and Blotts when she had had enough. "Malfoy, what do you want?" she asked exasperatedly. "What are you doing here anyways?"

Draco shrugged. "I had a small piece of business to take care of over at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Business? We're researchers for St. Mungos, what kind of business would you have at the Leaky Cauldron? Wait, nevermind. I don't really want to know." And she continued back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Another half-hearted reply. And now she was walking off again. Draco was beginning to feel desperate to have her do something, _anything_, even hex him. So as a last resort, he did the only thing he was sure would get an angry reaction from Hermione.

"It's better this way, Granger. After all, we wouldn't want Mudbloods reproducing!" he shouted at her retreating form.

Hermione's shoulders stiffened and her legs stopped. But only for a moment. Without even as much as a backwards glare, she continued on her journey for the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron.

With his jaw hanging open in a very un-Malfoy-esque stance, Draco decided it was time to pay Harry a visit and find out just what the hell he did to Hermione.


	3. 3

Disclaimer: Anything HP is not mine.

Changing Leaves (3?)

Draco immediately went to the house that Harry and Hermione shared, the very same house he went to the previous night to find Harry, only now there was a "For Sale" sign out front. Looking in a window, he saw that it had been completely cleaned out. 'Maybe they _are_ looking for a new place, and maybe she _really_ was getting her ring cleaned,' Draco thought. "Yeah right," he scoffed, "and maybe I _really_ should've been sorted into Gryffindor." No, that wasn't right, because if all was well between the couple, right now he should've been bouncing around as a ferret for what he said to Hermione. But all she did was walk away.

Having no idea where else he would be, Draco apparated to see the one other person who would know where to find Harry. And with a _crack_, he was gone and at Grimmauld Place, looking for Ron Weasley.

"Draco, how lovely of you to visit," Luna Weasley beamed as she opened the door. She gave him a hug, not aware that she wasn't really supposed to be treating him as a visiting friend.

Draco pried Luna off of him. "Alright, enough, Lovegood. Where's your _husband_?"

"Oh, I'm a _Weasley_ now," Luna replied airily as they moved into the sitting room.

Draco followed, shaking his head. "I know, I _was_ at the wedding," he grumbled.

"Oh, speaking of the wedding, how do you like our wedding gift from Harry?" she asked, gesturing to the redecorated Grimmauld Place. "It was so generous and kind of him."

"Yeah, Saint Potter. Ah, and here we find the trusty sidekick, Weasel-bee."

Ron shot out of his seat. "Malfoy! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Calm yourself, Weasley. I don't have the time, or the patience, so I'll leave the pleasantries for another occasion. Just tell me where Potter is."

Ron's ears went red and he motioned for Luna to leave the room before he looked down at his shoes. "Er, I take it that you've spoken to Hermione?" He glanced up cautiously. The glare that Ron received gave him his answer. "But, look, before you get all Malfoy on me, or Harry, (but me most of all), you have to understand what happened. No one did anything wrong, it just happened. You understand that, don't you? I mean, you go through women like I do with chocolate frogs. And the Hermione we get isn't at all like the Hermione you get; she's always yelling at you and she's just, Hermione with us. And really, her and Harry were more like brother and sister; Harry just realized it before she –"

Ron was speaking so quickly that it took a moment before Draco realized that he didn't give a damn about what Ron had to say. So before Ron could finish the long-winded explanation of his best friend's actions, Draco grabbed him by the shoulders, pushed him up against the wall, and pinned him there with his right hand around the shocked redhead's neck.

"Listen here, Weasley," Draco whispered threateningly while Ron gasped for air, "I don't give a _fuck_ about what you have to say. All I want from you is to tell me where the fuck I can find Potter."

"Oh, Harry!" came Luna's voice from the doorway. "You should've just said you were looking for Harry. He's at Ginny's. But really, this is all good news," she continued as she sat down with a cup of tea, "because this means that you can finally stop masking your feelings; both you _and_ Hermione."

Draco whipped his head around. "What are you on about?" he asked accusingly.

"Oh, come now, Draco," Luna sighed, seemingly oblivious to her husband's discomfort. "It's _clearly_ obvious that there's that certain spark between the two of you. And now with Harry out of the picture, the both of you can stop being so stubborn and just admit to the passion that exists between you."

"What!" Draco and Ron cried in unison, with Draco completely releasing his grip on Ron.

"Oh, stop it, both of you. Now, I'm not saying that this condones the fact that Harry conducted an affair behind Hermione's back, but –"

"An affair?" Draco asked incredulously. "He _cheated_ on her? When they were engaged? Oh no, this calls for more than a black eye, a fat lip, and maybe even a couple of broken ribs. No, I think I know exactly what I can do."

"Malfoy, what are you talking about?" Ron asked as he gingerly rubbed his neck. "I mean, we're all supposed to be mates now, you know, the whole 'the-past-is-behind-us, we-were-all-on-the-same-side' deal."

But Draco ignored him as he was deep in thought. Yes, he had a better way to teach Harry a lesson that would also give Hermione the opportunity to retaliate against him as well.

Hermione sat on the floor, in the middle of her newly acquired loft-style flat in Muggle London.

"Damn Malfoy and all his Pureblooded nonsense," she gritted out angrily as she tossed out what she supposed was the closest to an apology card as she would ever receive from Draco. It said, 'I didn't _really_ mean what I said.' The note had accompanied a beautiful white, trumpet lily, which for some reason, Hermione couldn't bring herself to throw away.

She _had_ been upset at first, she even cried. But now she was furious; both at Draco _and_ Harry. And as she sat on the floor with a box of photographs, every time she came across a photo of Harry, she would gaze at it almost lovingly for a moment before lashing out and ripping it to shreds, relishing in the feeling of taking her aggression out physically. It felt glorious to be angry again, even if it was directed toward Harry. 'But he most definitely deserves it,' she thought.

At the bottom of the stack, she found a photo that had been taken at the last St. Mungo's Christmas Party for all of the staff. Hermione watched as the photo-Hermione talked animatedly with a Healer she had just finished a case with. As a researcher, it was her job to work closely with Healers and Medi-witches when patients came in with ailments that were difficult to diagnose or for which there were no known cures as of yet. Many cases involved either poisons or venoms, so she was very familiar with the staff of the first and third floors of St. Mungo's. In the background of the photograph, Draco stood by himself surveying the room. Hermione noticed how he didn't have a sneer, a smirk, or a scowl on his face. For a moment she just watched him as he watched the room. But one look at a pleasant expression on the ex-Slytherin's face didn't forgive him of his taunts and insults, especially the last one (even after receiving a beautiful flower and a quasi-apology). Almost gracefully, she reached for her wand and touched the tip to the chest of photo-Draco. She watched as flames curled and singed the edges of the photograph before consuming it entirely

"Healer Mills, back so soon?" Hermione asked a week later as a portly, middle-aged wizard knocked on the open door to her small office.

"Yes, well, this is a particularly difficult case. And you and Draco are the best researchers in this entire lab, and under the circumstances, I would've gone to him. However, under the same circumstances, I thought it was really best to come to you," he explained cautiously.

"Circumstances?" Hermione asked curiously. "What sort of circumstances?"

Healer Mills was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Er, perhaps it's really best if you just come see the patient for yourself."

Hermione grew suspicious. Researchers rarely ever saw patients, only receiving any needed information from the Healers and Medi-witches.

"What sort of poison are we dealing with this time? Or is it a venom? A hex or a curse perhaps?" Hermione asked as she immediately began pulling reference books down from her ceiling-high shelves.

"I think it might be a bit of everything," the Healer said gravely. "It's really too difficult to tell what kind of combination of any of those we are dealing with. Either way, the witch or wizard who inflicted this definitely wanted to cause pain and humiliation."

Setting her books down, Hermione agreed to leave the confines of the Research Department to meet the patient face-to-face.

Together, they traveled up to the third floor, Potion and Plant Poisonings, where Healer Mills was Healer-in-Charge.

"The first floor (Creature-Induced Injuries) is really swamped today, so I decided to come straight to you since I only _suspect_ venom as part of the cause," said Healer Mills as he further explained the case to Hermione as she took notes in her notebook.

When they reached the room, Healer Mills gave a courtesy knock before entering, with Hermione following. When she looked up from her notes, there was shock written on her face.

"H – Harry?"

"Merlin – you – it's – oh – Hermione – thank!" Harry struggled to yell out. "I'm a wanker!" he yelled even louder afterwards.

"As I explained before," the Healer began as Harry began to scratch at large boils on his arm, "his speech is not coherent. The words come out in the incorrect order. And that last bit comes out at the end of each sentence, and it's the only thing that actually makes sense," he finished with a slight grin. "Dear boy! Don't scratch at those! We've already established the fact that they're filled with Exploding Fluid!" he yelled when he noticed Harry's desperate scratching.

"Stop – so – itchy – can't! I'm a wanker!"

Healer Mills sighed. "And as you can see, the apparent Swelling Solution used has caused the boils to become enlarged. But using a Deflating Draught only causes them to burst, expelling the enclosed Exploding Fluid. The boils only seem to be increasing with size, as they are also impervious to the Boil Cure Potion. Areas of his body also appear to have been affected by Wartcap Powder, while others appear to have been affected by some venom, of which has not yet been identified. Oh yes, and he seems to have suffered a rather badly broken nose."

Hermione went over her notes, making sure she had everything written down. When she looked up, it was obvious to her that Harry was in a great amount of pain. His hair was finally laying flat on his head, but only because he had been sweating profusely. His glasses lay on the table next to the bed, probably because the broken nose made them too painful to wear. His nose was bruised, as were his eyes from the impact of the broken nose. Blood from the broken nose now lay dried to his skin and his shirt. His hands were covered with a thick crust from the Wartcap Powder, and his neck had turned to a sickly green color. Areas of his clothing had been singed from the Exploding Fluid, and there were great, ugly boils all over his body.

Hermione glared at Harry, not offering any sympathy. It was obvious that he must have done something to get into his current state. He did have a knack for getting into trouble, after all. And, it was good to see him in some state of pain.

"Harry, I don't know what the hell you did," she mumbled before turning to speak to the Healer at her side. "I suggest a cooling salve to soothe the itching temporarily so that he can at least stop blowing things up, and a Sleeping Draught so he can at least get some rest while I go back and try identify the venom and come up with an antidote for this, whatever this is."

Healer Mills nodded and called for a Medi-witch to attend to Harry with some cooling salve and a Sleeping Draught before he and Hermione went out into the hall.

"Now I know why you didn't go to Malfoy," Hermione said in understanding.

"Yes, although the claim is that they are on friendly terms now, I have a suspicion that his suggested treatment would probably have been to send him home with some Sleekeasy's Hair Potion. But I want to thank you; I know it must be difficult given your current situation."

Hermione scoffed. "Please, Healer Mills. There is no situation." And with that she left to return to her office to do the required research.

"Heard about your latest case, Granger," Draco said as he leaned against the doorway of Hermione's office.

Hermione ignored him. She was surrounded by open books and sheets of parchment with notes and possible antidotes written on them.

"It _is_ strange, though. Isn't it?" Draco continued. "Here it is, a mere week after his confessed adulterous relationship and Potter ends up here with some mysterious ailment with who else but _you_ as the one in charge of finding an antidote."

"If you're insinuating that I had anything to do with this –"

"No, not at all," Draco said passively as he examined his manicured nails. "I was here to simply offer you my professional opinion, as one Researcher to another."

"And what would _you_ know about this, Malfoy?" Hermione asked skeptically and irritably. This was the first time she had to speak with Draco since his scathing remark in Diagon Alley.

"Just that I might've had a similar case a few months back that might prove to be a good starting point for you. Of course the whole 'I'm a wanker' deal and the broken nose might've been my own personal touches."

Before Hermione could register what Draco had said, he was gone and nowhere in their laboratory.


	4. 4

Disclaimer: Anything HP is not mine.

I don't think I wrote this as well as I really could have, but I'm tired. I think the first half was okay, but I kind of ran out of steam for the second half. So I let it sit for a real long time. My apologies! And thanks to all you reviewers, I really appreciate it.

Changing Leaves (4?)

"Is Draco Malfoy here?"

"Do you know where Malfoy is?"

"Do you know where I can find Draco Malfoy?"

"Have you seen Malfoy?"

Hermione went to his office – he wasn't there. She went to his lab bench – he wasn't there. She asked everyone in her department; she asked everyone she passed in every other department. By the time she reached the Fifth Floor, the Visitor's Tearoom and Hospital Shop, Hermione was feeling very frustrated and peeved off. He _knew_ she would be looking for him, and he purposefully bolted before she could respond and decided to play this impromptu "game" of hide-and-go-seek.

Setting one foot on the stairwell up to the final level of St. Mungo's, Hermione suddenly turned back around. 'He's not going to be in the _Tearoom_,' she thought to herself. But then she stopped and turned back toward the stairs. 'I _am_ here, after all. But why am I even chasing after him? He obviously wants to tell me what he knows, otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned anything at all. Why do _I_ have to go after _him_? And what the hell did he mean by, 'of course the whole 'I'm a wanker' deal and the broken nose might've been my own personal touches'?' And so Hermione stayed in the stairwell for a few minutes, literally spinning in circles as she debated whether or not she should even bother with checking the Tearoom.

"Ugh, I might as well go up there. I _am_ here, after all," she grumbled before ascending the steps.

There were a few people in the Tearoom; friends and family of other patients. Hermione glanced around before finding Draco in the corner, leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on another, and his arms crossed over his chest. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

All Draco did was smirk in response before lightly tapping the face of his watch.

"Malfoy, may I please speak to you outside for just a moment?" Hermione asked through clenched teeth with a pained expression on her face.

"I'm really very surprised that it took you this long. And I thought you were supposed to be a quick worker."

"Outside. Now. _Please_," she gritted out.

Draco sighed and moved as though he were about to get up. But instead, he leaned forward in his seat, propped his elbows on the table, and took a long sip from his cup of tea.

Hermione rolled her eyes while waiting for the _annoying prat_ to take a sip of tea, assuming that he was just taking his merry ole time.

But Draco settled back into his chair, propping his feet back up.

Hermione's jaw dropped. With a huff, she pursed her lips and strode over to where Draco was comfortably sitting. She glared at him for a moment before swiftly reaching out and yanking him by the arm so that he stumbled out of his chair, knocking one over in the process. Without taking a glance at their small audience, she pulled him out into the stairwell.

Once the door shut behind them, Hermione turned to face Draco and punched him as hard as she could on his upper arm.

"_Fuck_, Granger. What the bloody hell was that for?" Draco said loudly as he gingerly rubbed his arm.

Hermione gave a cheeky grin; happy that she had inflicted pain on him. But her face quickly fell back into a scowl. "That was for forcing me to cause a scene in front of those people in there." She paused for a moment, and as soon as he lowered his arm she punched him again in the exact same spot.

"_Fuck_, Granger. What the bloody hell was _that one_ for?"

"_That one_," Hermione said slowly, "was for the flower and the card."

"Damn, Granger, most women usually give _thanks_ for flowers; not abuse," Draco said angrily as he rubbed his arm again.

"What do you know about what Harry's got?" Hermione asked tersely after crossing her arms over her chest, as if she were accusing him of something.

Draco matched her stance. "I'm not sure I want to tell you anymore."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she moved to punch him again, but Draco caught her wrist in time and twisted her arm behind her back. He kept her in the awkward and painful hold despite her pained yelps.

"Let me go, Ferret!"

"No, I don't think I'll do that either," Draco said calmly. "I _was_ planning on giving you the antidote, you know. But after receiving a punch for a flower and a card, I don't think I really want to know what I'll get for curing your… _ex_-fiancée. And to think, I actually did all of this for your benefit."

Hermione struggled against Draco's hold, but he was much too strong. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?" she spat.

"You know what?" Draco whispered in her ear. "I don't think I'll tell you _that_ either." And with that, he released her with a push.

Draco stood his ground angrily as he watched Hermione stumbled before catching herself on the opposite wall. All he wanted was to give her a chance to cause Harry some pain, knowing that she would never bring it upon herself to do it of her own accord. But she always had to make everything _so_ difficult!

She grimaced as she tried to move her shoulder. "Ow," she gasped.

Draco groaned. "Come here, Granger."

Hermione glared at him with pure hatred.

"Get your ass over here, _now_," Draco growled.

It startled Hermione and Draco saw a flicker of fear in her eyes as his voice reverberated off the walls of the empty stairwell. He sighed, feeling guilty. He hadn't meant to hurt her, or make her fear him. But he did have the sometimes or usually (depending on who you were asking) unpredictable Malfoy temper and it was always extra sensitive in matters that concerned or involved Hermione. He closed the space between them and Hermione suddenly felt claustrophobic in the small stairwell. She braced herself for what was to come, but all that came were the gentle rolling movements of Draco's fingers over her shoulder as he massaged the muscles and manipulated the joint. With the expert technique more common in Healers, her shoulder soon gave a soft pop as the joint realigned.

"I dislocated it once before, during the summer," Hermione explained for no reason fathomable to her.

"I – I'm – Just let me know if it, if it hurts you," Draco stammered uncharacteristically before walking away, presumably back to his office.

Hermione held onto her shoulder as she stared down the stairwell, wondering if Draco had been about to apologize, as she suspected. She vaguely speculated as to whether or not Draco Malfoy really had the capacity to apologize; a _real_ apology. She sighed, deciding that she had best get back to her own office to continue her research since it didn't seemed like she was going to be getting the antidote any time soon.

But when Hermione opened the door to her office, she found a something unexpected on her desk. In a clear vase were a dozen white lilies; the same as the one she had received at her new flat. Next to it was a small vial that contained clear green liquid, and underneath that was an envelope with her name written in elegant script. She set the vial aside and picked up the envelope. Inside, in neat and controlled handwriting, Draco wrote that the vial was for Harry. He also gave the two incantations required to reverse the verbal afflictions. The part that caught Hermione's attention was the second part of the letter.

I want you to know that I want to apologize; not just for earlier today. But I don't apologize very often; never, in fact. So I would like to do this the right way. Please meet with me, and I don't mean in your office or my office, or in the corridor. I would like for us to meet for dinner this Friday evening, at Lola's. I hope you'll accept and I hope you like the flowers.

Hermione plopped down in her chair and put the letter down, staring at the flowers in front of her. She was finding it very difficult to believe that Draco wanted to have dinner with her at a high-class restaurant so that he could apologize to her, and 'not just for earlier today.' Hermione just sat there staring at her flowers, not really able to wrap herself around what Draco had said in the letter. All she could think about was how beautiful the flowers were and how Draco even came to know that they were her favorite.

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said gravely a couple of days later, "I haven't tested the antidote yet. This _is_ Malfoy, after all. Who knows, it could be a fake, or it could make you worse," she finished dramatically.

Harry, still looking as bad as the day he was admitted, sans the broken nose and bruises, shot upright from his reclined position, grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill off the bedside table, and began scribbling furiously.

Hermione took the parchment from his outstretched hand and squinted at the messy, almost illegible scrawl.

I don't care if you got the bloody antidote from Trelawney! Just give me the damn thing! I'm a wanker!

Not bothering to hide the grin on her face from seeing the last sentence in especially spastic, jagged handwriting, Hermione handed the parchment back to Harry. "I'm very sorry, Harry, but you understand that I can't risk the integrity and reputation of my career by possibly worsening your current condition. I promise that as soon as I'm positive that what I have is indeed the antidote, I'll let Healer Mills administer it. But for now, I really do have to run. I'm due to meet Malfoy, actually, in a couple of hours at Lola and I want to have enough time to get out of these St. Mungo's robes."

"Lola – you're – Malfoy – meeting at! I'm a wanker!"

"Really, Harry. I _am_ in a hurry right now. I can't stay here and play your word scramble game and listen to your 'wanker' affirmation," Hermione said through a smirk, even though she had no difficulties deciphering what he was trying to say. "Good night, Harry," she said over her shoulder cheerfully.

As the door swung shut, Hermione heard Harry's anguished and tormented groan and couldn't help but feel just a little bit better. But when the door clicked, she was sharply brought back to reality. Letting out a deep breath, she leaned back against the wall of the corridor and lightly knocked her head against it a few times. Suddenly going to dinner with Draco didn't seem like such a light-hearted topic that she could use capriciously just to watch Harry squirm.

Eventually Hermione made it back to her flat, but now she was going out of her mind tearing through her closet. Lola was the swankiest and highest class restaurant in all of wizarding Europe. How was she supposed to fit in with the socialites that were born into the world of luxury and riches, organza and silk, crystals and diamonds? Clothes were strewn all over the place – robes, shirts, jeans, bras, panties, sweats, pyjamas everywhere. Finally reaching the last garment, which was contained in a zippered garment bag, Hermione reached for it and pulled it out; her bridesmaid dress for the Lovegood-Weasley wedding; the only thing she owned that came close enough to being passable as acceptable to _those_ kind of people. She groaned as she remembered that Draco had also been at the wedding. 'Maybe he won't remember the dress,' she thought, 'it's not as if he were paying attention to me, anyways. The last thing I need is for him to make some inane comment that I'm not classy enough to know the ridiculous _rule_ that women aren't supposed to be seen in the same dress on more than one occasion.'

Hermione didn't really know why she wanted to go through such lengths to impress Draco and other hoity-toity witches and wizards. But nevertheless, she took the dress out of its protective bag, found the matching shoes, and even went through the trouble of putting on a set of frilly undergarments, which consisted of a barely-there panty and cleavage-creating bra. Nervously, she stood in front of her full-length mirror. The dress was a soft powder-blue color. It was strapless and the soft outer layer of the dress was gathered at the top-left of the gown where the rest of the fabric cascaded down in waves. It was reminiscent of the garments worn during the age of ancient Greece and Rome, which was why Hermione had chosen the dress in the first place for the wedding. Her hair was gathered half up-half down at the nape of her neck, the rest tumbling down in thick waves. Hermione groaned. To her, it was blatantly obvious that she was trying way too hard. She was sure that Draco would endlessly criticize her for not being able to pull off the graceful and beautiful look. No, to her, she looked and felt like a Barbie Doll; stiff and fake.

But it was almost six o'clock, if she didn't leave soon she would be late. Deciding that the mess in her bedroom would have to wait, Hermione ran around grabbing anything she needed and stuffing them in her clutch before Apparating to the Apparation Point in Lola's.

Inside the dimly lit room, a stuffy man in black formal robes greeted Hermione and offered an arm to her before leading her into the restaurant to her table, where Draco was already waiting. Hermione nervously smoothed her hair as Draco stood to greet her. It just wasn't normal to be so dressed up, in such a swanky restaurant, with Draco Malfoy, who was actually looking very nice in his black and white formal robes.

Draco stood from his seat, pleasantly surprised that an ethereal being was being lead straight to his table. "You look stunning tonight. I'm glad that you came," he said softly after signaling to the host that he could leave.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Thank you, Malfoy," she said in a very business-like tone as Draco pulled her seat out for her.

"Come on, Granger. Loosen up a little. Take in the ambiance, drink some wine."

And instantly, a waiter appeared at their table with a bottle of white wine. Hermione picked up her glass and took the tiniest of sips before placing the glass back on the table and letting her hands circle the stem.

The whole of dinner passed in a sort of haze for Hermione; she half expected to wake up and have a good laugh at a hallucinatory dream. The two of them talked about work, co-workers, current events in wizarding society, and they even did a little reminiscing about their Hogwarts' days. Actually, Draco did a lot of the talking; a great difference since they were usually fighting to get a word in. All in all, it was very surreal and drinking alcohol did nothing to help clarify anything.

"It's a nice evening out, what would you say to a walk?" Draco asked as their dessert plates were cleared away.

Hermione didn't look at his face as she tried to ignore the heat in her cheeks from their wine and other various mixed alcoholic drinks. "It's getting late. I think it might be better if I went home."

"Oh, alright," Draco responded, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice. "I suppose you're right. But let me walk you back to your flat. I'm sure you don't want to risk any Apparating after all this alcohol, and it _is_ dark, after all."

"Malfoy, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl and I'm fully capable of taking care of myself. Besides, I know you're only being so pleasant because of the alcohol, so I'll save you the trouble of having to deal with sobering reality later on."

"Have I told you that you look beautiful?" Draco asked in a husky voice, ignoring Hermione's response.

"Yes, you have, numerous times actually. But thank you again," she replied, trying to regain her business-like tone and also trying to hide her deepening blush.

Draco squinted his eyes, as though examining her. "No, not just tonight. You _do_ look exceptionally beautiful tonight, but you always look beautiful, especially when you think no one's watching. That's when you're beauty is obvious; when you're natural, relaxed, confident; when a faint smile graces your lips when something clicks in that wondrous mind of yours." His gaze lingered on her pink, shimmering lips.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It was definitely time for her to get out of there and get home. She didn't think she could sit and listen to his intoxicated blabbering a minute longer; he obviously didn't know what he was saying.

"Let's get out of here," he whispered suggestively. "Let me take you home. _Please_."

Hermione didn't know if it was the alcohol, the ambiance, the tone of his voice; the deep, soothing yet exciting tenor; or if it was the effect of the simple word 'please,' but she didn't protest when they left together.

The air outside was pleasantly warm as a soft breeze stirred occasionally. The fresh air had a sobering effect on the both of them. As they made their way onto the Muggle streets of London, they were greeted by curious glances as people wondered where such an immaculately dressed couple was leaving from or going to.

"I'm sorry for everything, Granger," Draco said suddenly; the deep, husky voice gone. "I'm sorry for earlier today; I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry for everything before today. I wish I had a legitimate explanation, if only to make me feel better, but I don't. All I can do is say that I'm sorry, and hope that we both see tonight as a step in the right direction."

"I don't know what's making me say this, but the past is the past, Malfoy. Thank you, and I do believe that tonight was a big step in the right direction." Hermione paused. "I suppose I should really be thanking you for what you did to Harry; as wrong as it was, and as strange as this is to me, I think I understand you're intentions."

Draco smirked. "I do have to say that I am pleasantly surprised and particularly proud that you haven't given him the antidote yet."

The trip up to her flat was spent in silence. Hermione was feeling sleepy and exhausted, and a little bit confused at how pleasantly the evening had actually turned out. Draco just looked at her.

Hermione fished her keys out of her handbag and unlocked the door. Before fully opening the door, she turned around to find Draco standing very close to her. She looked up at him. "Er, thanks, Malfoy. Tonight was nice. Well, good-night, then," she said awkwardly.

But before she had a chance to turn away, Draco had brought his lips down to hers. Instantly, Hermione felt herself sober up completely as she tried to comprehend just exactly what was happening. His lips were soft; they were barely touching hers. But when he increased the pressure, Hermione made a halfheartedly muffled protest. He moved his lips slowly, as if coaxing hers to join. As if of their own accord, her lips moved against his. Their tongues danced together and all Hermione could focus on was the feel of his tongue against hers.

Feeling the smallest bit of her sensibility coming back to her, Hermione pushed on Draco's chest hard enough to let him know that she was trying to push him away. Hermione was practically panting; her breaths quick and shallow. Draco, however, was taking deep, calm breaths.

Draco's eyes were intense; dark and smoldering. His hands were still on Hermione; one low on her hip, the other cupping her cheek. And before she could act, he was leaning down towards her again.

"Malfoy!" Hermione gasped, this time pushing him away more forcefully. "What are you doing?"

"It's called kissing, Granger," Draco answered with a smirk while brushing his thumb over her pink lower lip.

Hermione ducked down from the confines of his arms and stood at the opposite wall, feeling very flustered. "No. You're not supposed to kiss me, and I'm not supposed to kiss you."

"Just because you _think_ it's not supposed to happen, doesn't mean that it _can't_ or _won't_ happen. And you and I both know that we want this to happen."

Hermione suddenly felt very small compared to Draco's towering frame, which was quickly advancing on her.

"Malfoy," Hermione said nervously, "I don't really think either of us are in a state to make a decision like that. We've been drinking a lot, our minds aren't clear – you – you don't know what you're saying – or doing," she quickly finished.

"You're wrong. I _do_ know what I'm saying, and I certainly know what I'm doing. But you're also right. We _have_ been drinking a lot. And doesn't that make you want to feel reckless? To do something without analyzing everything? It's okay to feel, Hermione. Give your brain a break, and just feel. Don't you want to know what you've been missing all your life?" Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy didn't know how to get what he wanted.

Hermione couldn't have forced her brain to function even if she wanted to when Draco captured her lips for a second kiss. The slow, sensuous movements of his lips over her own, the alternating feather-light and needy movements of his hands over her body, the feel of his hair between her fingers, the intoxicating scent of him, and the welcoming warmth of his hard body deliciously filled her. As he maneuvered them into her flat, Hermione realized that she didn't want her brain to do anything at the moment; all she wanted right now was to experience the sensory overload that was Draco Malfoy.


End file.
